


Renegotiation

by andthebluestblue, Shayvaalski



Series: Mark [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, I want to touch his face with both my hands, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Mark - Freeform, Moriarty Is A Dick, Pre-Threesome, Trans Male Character, Transgender, Translock, Waffles, explicit relationship negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-07 22:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13444962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthebluestblue/pseuds/andthebluestblue, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shayvaalski/pseuds/Shayvaalski
Summary: Jim has some suggestions. Sebastian is making waffles. And Mark only just woke up.





	Renegotiation

**Author's Note:**

> yeah it turns out we finished this in June 2015 and never posted it which means we don't even have 'getting married' as an excuse because we got married A Full Year Later, HOPE YOU ENJOY IT
> 
> (see spoilery content warnings/more info in end note)

On Saturday, he hears nothing.

By this time Mark feels like he should be used to these silences; blank points when Jim is not just unreachable but nonexistent. Nothing so simple as offline or out of service, but some alchemy that renders him—and Seb—invisible. He isn’t used to it. He’s not sure what it would mean, to be used to it.

Mark picks up a swing shift to take his mind off it but gets out much too early for it to be any use—Alimah had glanced up at the clock around ten thirty, then down at her paperwork and the nice young doctor’s number stuck to it, then heaved a sigh and sent him home.

He goes home, brushes his teeth, puts on pajamas and considers trying to make headway on the endless pile of magazines and journals he should be getting through—the bulk of the pile is evenly split between _Forensic Magazine_ (On the Scene and In the Lab!) and _Cat Fancy,_ which he did not entirely intend to sign up for but, well.

Jim hadn’t even _said_ anything. He’d kissed Mark on the cheek and wiggled his fingers in farewell, leaving behind a jangle of cologne that clashed with the smell of sweat and—other things.

He goes to bed instead. He’ll be less frustrated by Jim’s—and now Seb’s—inability to have anything resembling a normal relationship in the morning.

When he is woken at what must be an entirely unreasonable hour by the knock on his door, he supposes that at least it will be a different _sort_ of frustration. Any normal person would ring his bell in the lobby and wait to be buzzed in. Jim knocks.

Sebastian at least looks a bit embarrassed to be there, carrying an awkwardly shaped bag. Jim makes a delighted noise when Mark opens the door and curls a hand around Mark’s neck, the press of his mouth pleased and possessive and showing absolutely no regard for the early hour.

“I brought breakfast,” he announces, slipping past Mark. “And Sebastian.”

Mark stands in the doorway, speechless and still in his pajamas. Sebastian readjusts his bag (which seems unusually heavy, and oddly shaped; Mark cannot even begin to guess what it contains) and blinks, and then focuses his gaze rather too intently on Mark’s face. After a long second Mark _gets_ it, and crosses his arms tightly over his t-shirt.

“Morning,” says Seb, almost cautious, and leans forward to kiss him on the cheek. It’s such a surreally formal gesture that Mark turns his head as Sebastian pulls away, and manages— _look ma, no hands—_ to catch his mouth, very briefly. He thinks he feels Seb smile, and certainly the man looks more relaxed when he straightens up.

“Good morning to you too,” Mark says, feeling rather lighter himself, and gestures for Sebastian to come in. Jim is already in the kitchen, making far too much noise. He doesn’t appear to be doing anything when they walk into the room, but Mark glances distrustfully around—he doesn’t know what a bug or hidden camera would actually look like, but he’s been a bit jumpy ever since Sebastian’s revelation. There aren’t any.

Sebastian sighs, and stretches to reach the cabinet directly behind Jim’s head. He opens it and pulls out something Mark can’t quite see, shoving it back into Jim’s pocket. Jim frowns.

“Really, you’re both being terribly old-fashioned about this.”

Mark stares at Jim, who waves a hand. “Not about _that_ , darling—though Sebby _refuses_ to give me any details.” He looks at Mark beseechingly. Mark snorts.

“It was very nice,” he says, purposefully prudish. Jim laughs, eels closer.

“I mean about me _listening in.”_ Sebastian catches him by the collar just before he can crowd Mark back against the table and jerks him back. Jim doesn’t appear to mind. It’s interesting, seeing both of them together now that all the cards are on the table; Sebastian looks a little more awake, a little sharper, and Jim more fluid in his skin. “Honestly, it’s like you don’t want me to have _any_ fun.”

“Got it in one,” Seb says, and gives him another little jerk before releasing him. But he says it fondly, and Jim’s eyes go all unfocused and lazy, and Mark relaxes, just a little.

Released, Jim leans against Sebastian until he makes a familiar motion with one shoulder that pushes Jim away without unbalancing him and places the bag onto the counter. He pulls out a plastic container of batter—which explains the weight—and an electric waffle iron—which explains the awkward shape. Not that anything actually explains why, say, pancakes wouldn’t have done just as well, but Mark supposes that would have been _just too simple._

Jim makes a beeline across the kitchen to drape himself over Mark instead, the side of his hip warm on the lowest part of Mark’s belly, one leg hooked around Mark’s and an arm curved up over his back. He sighs, content as a cat in an unwelcome visitor’s lap, and Mark sees Seb watching them out of the corner of his eye. He looks—not pleased, exactly, although pleasure is a part of it—he looks satisfied.

Mark unbends enough to slide an arm around Jim’s waist, and Sebastian grins before going back to his waffle preparations. The iron is heating with a smell like browned butter, shockingly homey against the metal-and-blood tang of Jim’s body, and the sun is starting to make an appearance through the window, and Tobi is making a noise like _prt_ around Jim’s ankles.

“Hello, cat,” says Seb, without looking round; Tobi flirts her tail and goes to investigate his boots. When none of them make any move to pet or feed her she goes out again, looking offended. Mark leans his head against Jim’s shoulder.

“Why,” he says after a minute, “are you in my flat with a waffle-maker?”

“I didn’t think you’d own one. And even if you do, ours is nicer.”

“Jim,” Mark says, exasperated, and Jim leans to kiss his cheek.

“I did promise we’d all get together to sort this out, didn’t I? A bit late, I know, but you didn’t seem to have any complaints.”

“It was very nice,” Sebastian says, even more straight-faced than usual. Jim ignores him, and Mark very focusedly does not blush.

“But, here we are, in the flesh—” he wriggles in Mark’s arms as if to emphasize the fact— “and fully prepared to have a conversation.” He pauses. “Unless, of course, you have any ideas about what we could do instead.” His motion this time is closer to a writhe, and Mark bites his lip. He glances at Sebastian, who is looking extremely focused on determining if a waffle is finished cooking, and when he looks back Jim is smirking at him.

“Conversation,” Mark says, all dignity. “Not that I didn’t, um, enjoy myself.” He hesitates, and then in a moment of weakness glances at Seb; Seb, who is nodding in a pleased sort of way. He goes on, heartened. “With both of you. But I’d like to—to clarify the situation, before we—go anywhere else.”

Jim looks considering; Sebastian covers what could be a snort of laughter with getting down plates and forking out the first waffle. “Sit,” he says. “Eat. You too, Jim.”

“There’s only one,” Jim points out, but he sits, and folds his hands together neatly on the table. “Clarify,” he says, thoughtful. “An interesting choice of words, Mark. Connoting, of course, that something is _already_ occurring in which you are an active participant, but of which a sharper, more nuanced view is sought—”

“Boss,” Seb says, still without looking around; Jim subsides, but only momentarily.

“Neither of us,” says Jim, arch and intent, “will hold it against you if the present situation needs to be modified. But I have to _tell_ you, darling, that I find it _quite_ to my liking.”

“Okay,” says Mark carefully. “But what _is_ the current situation, actually? Because the only thing you told me was that you were my boyfriend and Sebastian was yours, but I don’t have—I don’t kiss other people’s boyfriends.”

“Kiss?” says Jim, smirking, but is luckily drowned out by Sebastian’s amused, “Boss. Your _boyfriend?_ ”

“It was accurate in the conversation,” Jim says, in a tone that does not welcome further comment. “And by transitive law, Mark, that means Sebastian is also your boyfriend. So it’s all fine.”  
“I really don’t think that’s how that works,” Mark says, and Jim gives him a tragic look.

“Are you _breaking up_ with Sebastian, Mark?”

“For god’s sake,” Mark snaps, “would you at least pretend to take this seriously?”

Jim leans back in his seat, eyes cool. “Seriously? Fine.” He shifts his shoulders and runs his tongue, quick, over the edges of his canines and incisors. “To be perfectly _serious_ , Mark, I have every intention of continuing my relationship with Sebastian—which for the sake of simplicity let’s call a long-term romantic partnership—while I date you. That includes continuing to have sex with both of you. I don’t have anything communicable—you already know that—and neither does Sebastian, unless he got it from you.” Mark opens his mouth but Jim holds a finger up. “Let me spare us all some time and speak for Sebastian as well. Sebastian is both completely committed to _me_ and absolutely panting to get you into bed again—or _couch_ , as the case may be—I’m sure he’d have something terribly ineloquent and moving to say about feelings for you as well, of course, but I’ll leave the sweet nothings for the afterglow—which I, as I believe we’ve established, support.” He blinks at Mark, lazy and predatory, and smiles. “Particularly if I can watch.”

Mark opens his mouth and then closes it. Jim just watches, lounged back like he belongs there, in Mark’s kitchen, eating waffles. Behind him Sebastian is very still. There’s nothing to say to any of that—or there is, probably, but Mark can’t seem to get a handle on the words. He recrosses his arms, tighter. Opens his mouth again.

“I’m not having this conversation in my pajamas,” he says, flat, and turns on one heel.

“Feel free to take them off,” Jim calls after him. Mark, not looking back, snaps, “I’m putting on _trousers_.”

He can hear their voices from behind his door—not words, but the ear-catching hum of Jim’s voice, the thicker sound of Sebastian’s. He’s not exactly trying to eavesdrop (though it is _his_ _flat_ ) but he opens the door quietly after he’s done dressing, and catches the tail end of the conversation.

“You might as well, Sebby, it’s just going to go cold.”

“Eat it, Jim.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Mark considers for a moment if he’s self-centered for assuming they’d be talking about him. Maybe. But he’s almost definitely self-centered for being a tiny bit offended that they’re not.

“You’re never hungry.” There’s a soft noise like hand against skin. “Doesn’t mean I don’t make you eat.”

“ _Not_ the time to test me, darling—”

He shuts the door, firmly, and the sound covers the next few words; and by the time Mark enters the kitchen Sebastian is eating a waffle with his fingers, looking mutinous. Mark sits, tucking his feet beneath his chair, chest tight with—he tells himself—only the binder, and not with nerves.

“I’m not letting you watch me have sex with Sebastian,” he says. “That’s _weird,_ Jim. Weird and—and voyeuristic.” Before Sebastian can finishes drawing breath Mark adds, “Not the other way round, either.”

Jim rolls his eyes but looks unsurprised. Sebastian is eating the waffle with an extremely blank face. “Fine,” Jim says, briskly. “The rest of it, then?”

Mark hesitates. He’s relatively certain that if he doesn’t step carefully, he’ll find himself a good deal over his head—which, to be fair, is how he often feels around Jim. “So—Sebastian is your boyfriend. And my boyfriend. And so are you.”

Jim waves a hand. “And?”

Mark digs a fingernail into the corner of the table where the coating is just starting to come loose. “And,” he says, still careful, “the—relationship, between the two of you, that doesn’t involve me. I have separate relationships.”

“The relationship Jim and I have,” Seb says, somewhat unexpectedly, “is between me and Jim. It’s not subject to you being here or not.”

He subsides. Jim, dark-eyed, briefly transfers from watching Mark to watching him, and then looks back.

“As he says,” he drawls. “It _is_ subject to occasional renegotiation depending on circumstantial changes, but on the whole and for the moment, you are correct. The relationships stand—all of them—individually.” Jim crosses one ankle over the opposite knee. Even his socks look expensive and tailored. “Can you live with that, Mark?”

Mark feels his shoulders release, just a bit. “God, yes,” he says, and steals the last piece of Seb’s waffle. Jim and Sebastian both look surprised—Jim’s head tilted back and Sebastian’s to the side—and Mark snorts. “You’re both lovely,” he says firmly, “but you couldn’t _pay_ me to get involved in whatever that is.”

Jim looks as though he’s considering being offended, but Sebastian laughs, loudly, startling them both. He reaches out and curls a hand around Mark’s neck, pulling him in closer, and Mark, understanding his intentions, snaps, “Jim, shut your eyes.” Sebastian grins, and the kiss is casual but thorough, a summation and a promise.

“This is absurd,” Jim says, and Mark kisses him as well—after a pointed look at Sebastian, who turns to the neglected waffle iron, humming below his breath. Jim isn’t startled by Mark’s kiss, closed eyes or no, but he’s clearly pleased, and he tugs Mark’s belt loops lightly—not to pull Mark into his lap, as he usually does, but enough to remind Mark of the possibility.

“So,” Jim says, brightly, “Who am I fucking tonight?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> (As always, Blue and I wrote this in tandem—so thoroughly that we can't tell who wrote which part at this  
> point—and both of us identify as trans. There is an allusion to a trans man being seen without a binder; it begins at "Sebastian readjusts his bag..." and occurs once or twice more until Mark gets dressed.)


End file.
